ren of the man to whom a holy sacrament
unites you! Then you will first make yourself worthy of the dear
imperilled life in yonder little bed."

Thrice, four times, and oftener still, Barbara raised her hands to utter
this vow, but ere she did so she said to herself that never, never could
she wholly fulfil it, and, to save herself from a fresh sin, she did not
make it.

But with what anxiety she now gazed at the glowing face of the fevered
boy whenever the warning voice again rose!

At midnight the little sufferer's eyes seemed to her to shine with a
glassy look, and when, pleading for help, he raised them to her, her
heart melted, and in fervent, silent prayer she cried to the Queen of
Heaven, "Spare me this child, make it well, and I will not think of the
Emperor's son more frequently nor, if I can compass it, with warmer love
than this clear creature and his little brother in the cradle."

Scarcely had these words died on her lips than she again felt that she
had promised more than she had the power to perform. Yet she repeated the
vow several times.

During the whole terrible night her husband stood beside her, obeying
every sign, eagerly and skilfully helping in many ways; and when in the
morning the doctor appeared she was firmly convinced that her vow had
saved the sick boy's life. The crisis was over.

Henceforth, whenever the yearning for the distant John seized upon her
with special power, she thought of that night, and loaded the little sons
near her with tokens of the tenderest love.

On that morning of commencing convalescence her husband's grateful kiss
pleased her.

True, during the time that followed, Pyramus succeeded no better than
before in warming his wife's cold heart, but Barbara omitted many things
which had formerly clouded his happiness.

The Emperor Charles had again gone to foreign countries, and therefore
festivals and shows no longer attracted her. She rarely allowed herself a
visit to Frau Dubois, but, above all, she talked with her boys and about
them like every other mother. It even seemed to Pyramus as though her old
affection for the Emperor Charles was wholly dead; for when, in November
of the following year, agitated to the very depths of his being, he
brought her the tidings that the Emperor had been surprised and almost
captured at Innsbruck by Duke Maurice of Saxony, who owed him the
Elector's hat, and had only escaped the misfortune by a hurried flight to
Carinthia, he